


Distractions

by churchwash



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alpha Wash, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Omega Church, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 00:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchwash/pseuds/churchwash
Summary: Wash helps Church relax after work.





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Now you all know my shame. 
> 
> All the standard fare for ABO, knotting, self lubrication, scenting, all the good stuff. Minus mpreg. Wash can't smell pheromones, but he's still an alpha. Just a condition he has lmao. There's world building here, I promise. Y'all are just getting the smut. 
> 
> (Written on mobile, so forgive typos or any weird formatting. I did the best I could.)

He has a headache.  
  
Church sighs and rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes. He's been going over this contract for hours, marking everything that seemed off, or fishy, or just undesirable. He's only halfway through reworking it, the finished pages scattered around the bed.  
  
He'd _meant_ to lie down and relax, wait for Wash to get done with his own work in their home office, but the contract had been pulling his attention away from his _me-time,_ and he figured, fuck it. He'll get the best of both worlds — relax in bed while getting this contract ready.  
  
Unfortunately, he's not really relaxing.  
  
He opens his eyes again and sighs, reading the same paragraph over for the third time. He's just not processing it. He groans in frustration and throws the papers down, adding them to the disorganized mess.  
  
"I thought we agreed you should leave work at work, Church," Wash says from the doorway, his voice light-hearted.  
  
Church glances up, surprised to see him there. He didn't notice. "I know," he mutters after a moment, returning his gaze to the page he'd been marking. He picks it up again. "But I need to get this ready to deliver by Wednesday." He knows he should put it away, focus on his mate, but he's _dedicated,_ now. He can't just abandon a project mid-way through.  
  
Wash doesn't protest or argue, just hums and pushes himself from the doorframe, walking over to the bed. He collects some of the papers and moves them to the nightstand so he can lie down next to Church.

They sit like that for a while, Wash watching Church as he slowly makes his way through page after page.

Church is starting another paragraph when Wash moves down the bed, then shifts over, settling himself between Church's legs. He braces himself on his elbows and places his hands on Church's thighs, near his groin.  
  
Wash doesn't say anything or do much else until Church shifts the papers out of his line of sight, raising an eyebrow at him. "Don't mind me," Wash says, his voice low, and — how did Church miss the shift in his scent?  
  
"Wash," Church warns. "I have _work_ to do."  
  
Wash just smirks at him and wraps his fingers around the waistband of Church's sweats.  
  
" _Wash,_ " Church tries again, though he doesn't move to push Wash's hands away. God he smells good. The arousal, the playful intent — it smells like lemon and honey mixed with Wash's usual earthy scent. It's intoxicating.    
  
But he's ignored as Wash slowly, slowly tugs down Church's sweatpants, and Church just huffs, moving the papers back in front of his face. Fine. Two can play at this game.  
  
He makes a mark with his pen, circling a few words, while Wash pushes up his shirt. He crosses out a sentence while Wash presses soft, wet kisses to his stomach. It makes the muscles under his skin jump in response, but he doesn't make a sound, doesn't respond to the attention that Wash is moving south, towards his hip bones.  
  
Wash's scent gets stronger, heavier, as he kisses, sucks, and bites marks into Church's hips, and it thoroughly fucks his ability to focus on his work. He can feel himself start to get wet as his own arousal builds, and — "Damn it, Wash. I _have_ to get this done."

Wash lifts his head from the hickey he'd been making, looking at Church with what he _assumes_ is supposed to be an innocent face. It just makes him look like a smarmy asshole.  
  
"You don't have to do anything, Church," Wash says, a lift to his voice, and oh yeah, he's an asshole. He's teasing him, _mocking_ him, really. "I just want to help you relax. You can keep working."  
  
How the _hell_ is he supposed to keep working when Wash moves his lips over, just a few inches, and mouths at the side of Church's half-hard cock, his breath hot and humid and. Fuck. Church shifts his hips, feeling a few drops of his slick run out of him, his body already responding to the effort Wash has put in.  
  
It's fucking embarrassing. He should have better control of his damn self. Fucking body. Fucking Wash. Fucking _alphas._  
  
He makes a sound in his throat when Wash licks a wet stripe up the side of his cock, and he abandons all pretense of actually getting any more work done. He places the papers in his hands on the nightstand, and shoves the ones left on the bed off, scattering them onto the floor. Hands free, he sits up enough to yank off his shirt, throwing it blindly.  
  
Wash flicks his gaze up to him, and Church glares, his face flushed, when Wash just smirks. Church relocates his hands to Wash's soft hair, his fingers curling and tugging gently.

"Teasing fuck," he mutters under his breath as Wash takes Church into his mouth. It's hot and wet and _so good._ Church's brain short circuits for a beat, and then he's letting out a small moan, his hips twitching up, chasing the feeling.

Any omega who doesn't get their dick sucked on the regular is really, _really_ missing out.

Wash hums softly, and Church groans in response, his fingers tightening in Wash's hair. He pulls off of Church's cock, just enough to mouth and kiss at the head, his tongue working magic as it hits all the spots that get Church's toes to curl, that get his breathing to pick up. But then he's back down, and Church can't decide if he likes his dick being down Wash's throat better.

After a minute of only working his cock (and fuck if that isn't good enough), Wash shifts, bringing his arm up from under himself. A beat, and then his hand is at Church's ass, gently prodding a finger against his hole, testing how wet he is, how ready he is. Church is about to snap for him to get a move on, he's fucking wet enough, _Jesus_ Wash _come on_ — but he's cut off by a whine from the back of his throat, Wash's finger pushing into him, stretching him out just enough for there to be a pleasant pressure.

Wash keeps doing his best to get Church to lose all coherency, his finger slowly but steadily pumping into him while Church fucks his hot mouth, guiding him by the hands fisted in his hair. But when Church breathes out his name, Wash pulls away, dislodging Church's hands, moving back up his body, mouthing at his skin until he's sucking marks into his throat.  

Church pouts down at him when Wash glances up, but he just grins and starts working a second finger into Church. After getting a needy moan in response, and Wash opens his fucking mouth to mock him.

Cocky bastard.

"Look at how wet you are, omega," Wash murmurs, his fingers working in and out of Church's hole. "So needy, aren't you?"  
  
Church can't help but whimper softly — he has a thing for dirty talk, sue him — and lean up to mouth at Wash's jaw, scenting him while pressing sloppy kisses to his skin, because yes he is wet, and yes he is an omega, and yes he is needy. "Stop stating the fucking obvious and just fuck me, Wash," he snaps, the harsh words negated by his whiny, desperate tone.  
  
Wash tsks gently and presses another finger into him, spreading him open farther. (Enough for his cock, and Church hopes that means he’ll hurry the fuck up.) "Is that any way to talk to your alpha?" His voice is sharp, has the weight of Wash's alpha-voice, but it's not serious. It's teasing. They're playing.  
  
Church can feel more of his slick run out of him and down his skin, and he has to wonder why, why why why, is Wash even bothering with this? With the blowjob and the fingering and the dirty talk. He's wet enough, he's ready enough. He just wants his alpha's cock, his alpha's knot filling him.  
  
He buries his face into Wash's shoulder and inhales deeply, basking in the scent of Wash's arousal, his teasing, playful mood, his ... _everything._ His alpha. His mate. _His his his._  
  
God he can't believe he's this deep into it already. He usually has more self-control. He really does, he swears. But it's been awhile since they’ve done this. They've both been so busy with work, lately.  
  
As Wash laughs softly at him, he gets an idea to push this a little farther.  
  
So Church places his hands on Wash's shoulders and pushes, separating them as Wash easily moves. He looks up at Wash with a stern face, his fingers curling into Wash's shirt. He doesn't say anything, and he can feel Wash's fingers stop moving. Wash raises an eyebrow, and Church bares his teeth at him.  
  
Omegas aren’t supposed to bare their teeth.

"Oh, you naughty brat," Wash growls, a low sound in his throat, and he pulls his fingers from Church. His voice is harsh, but Church can smell the excitement on him. Challenging Wash _always_ got him hot and bothered.  
  
Wash completely pulls back, kneeling between Church's legs, Church posed under him, his face and chest flushed and his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. Wash pauses, taking in the sight, and then slaps him across the face, just once. Church's head snaps to the side, his cheek stinging.  
  
Wash grabs his chin and jerks his head back front and center. Church makes eye contact, and while Wash waits for an apology (or their safeword), he just smirks at him.  
  
Wash slaps him again, same side.  
  
Church can feel the spark of pain, the flush from the contact, and he can feel himself get wetter, his slick dripping onto the bedsheets. The thought that the sheets are going to stain passes through his mind, briefly, but he’s brought back to reality by Wash grabbing his hair and jerking his head back, forcing him to make eye contact.

“I thought we trained this out of you, Church,” Wash snaps, sounding disappointed, frustrated. But his scent is pure arousal and affection, and Church knows better anyway. This is just a game. Foreplay. Well, a second round of it.

“Guess you're going to have to do better, huh?” Church mocks. “Maybe you can fuck it out of me.”

A risky request. Half the time he asks directly to get this show on the road, to have his alpha start fucking his brains out, Wash draws it out, giving him everything under the fucking Sun but what he wants.

And God he wants it so badly.

Wash smirks at him and leans back onto his haunches again. He strips his shirt, throwing it to the floor, and unbuttons his jeans, wiggling them down his hips far enough to pull his cock out, hard and dripping with precome already. Good to know this gets Wash as hot as it gets him. Wash starts to stroke himself with one hand, his other making its way back between Church's legs.

He orders, “Spread,” and Church doesn't have to be told twice, his thighs easily falling wider apart. Wash prods at his hole, but glances up at him and then flicks his gaze to one of the pillows. “Do you want—”

Church gets the idea before Wash finishes, grabbing one of the pillows from the head of the bed. He lifts his hips and tucks the pillow under them, allowing Wash a better angle. If he'd actually fucking _do_ something.

Thankfully, blessedly, Wash doesn't want to tease him tonight. Church feels Wash slide three fingers into him again, testing the give, the feel, making sure he's ready, and then he's drawing his fingers back out. There's a pause, and Church swears to _God_ that he's going to kill him if he starts up any dirty talk without at least putting _something_ in him. But then Wash shifts, and the head of his cock is pushing into Church's slick, wet hole, and Church's mind short circuits.

He drops his head back against the pillow and digs his teeth into his bottom lip, whining in his throat when Wash starts moving, slow and careful. God it feels good, makes him want to do nothing but get fucked by his mate 24/7, hang off his knot like a good omega should. (Not that he _would_ , but it's hot to think about.)

Wash grabs his hips and pulls him closer, bottoming out inside of him, his hips pressed flush to Church's ass. “How's it feel, omega?” Wash asks him, voice low, not moving.

Church knows he's supposed to start begging. Tell Wash how good it feels, please alpha, please fuck him, he needs your knot, alpha _please._ But he has enough self control to keep his mouth shut. … At least for now, but God it's close to that point. Wash’s scent is intoxicating, it drives him fucking wild. Jacks his desperation  and arousal to an 11. Like a fucking aphrodisiac. He wants to keep playing their little game, draw it out for as long as possible before he _completely_ loses his higher brain functions.

Wash waits, a beat, two, and when Church just watches him, a defiant glint in his eyes, Wash smacks his thigh, hard enough to leave a red handprint behind. “I asked you a question,” he snaps. “I won't move until you behave.”

Church rolls his eyes. “Please, you're as desperate as I am. I can smell it,” he says, voice airy and tinged with need. He's playing a dangerous game, here. He knows Wash has enough self control to stop, to pull out and walk away, no matter how turned on, how close he is. He's done it before.

Wash raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Church shifts, propping himself up on his elbows. He smirks. “I know it is. C’mon Wash, you know you're not going to walk away from this, from _me_. Your omega, so hot and wet for you, ready for you to fuck his brains out, to knot and come inside of him. You can't walk away from me.”

There's a pause, and Church thinks he's fucked it up, that Wash is actually going to pull out and leave him there to jerk himself off, desperately fingering his hole because he doesn't have his alpha there to do it for him.  

“You're the brattiest fucking omega I've ever met,” Wash mutters, and Church knows he's won their little game.

Wash starts moving, using his grip on Church's hips as leverage to fuck into him, setting a steady pace, and Church is in heaven; he’s pleasantly full, relishing in the feeling of Wash's cock fucking his sopping wet hole. But after a few minutes, or an hour, fuck if he knows, the feelings get to be borderline overwhelming, and he gets desperate for his mate, for him to be close. He wants to dig his fingers into his skin, cling to him and scent him, and damn it he's too far away like this. He makes undignified grabby hands, and Wash huffs a laugh, shifting so that he's laying over him, his elbows braced on either side of Church's head.

Church keens and wraps his arms around him, burying his face into the space between Wash's shoulder and neck. He noses at the bite marks there, fresh from his last heat, and feels a rush of affection. He knows his pheromones are going wild, and, for a brief moment, wishes Wash could smell them. Wishes he could _know_ how much Church loves him, needs him.

But he thinks Wash knows by the babble that's streaming mindlessly out of his mouth between small moans and whines for more.

He can tell Wash is getting close simply by the fact that there's no dirty talk coming from him. Wash loves to run his mouth when he's in a playful mood, but apparently doesn't have the brainpower to think of anything coherent. Fine by Church, really. Lets him save some of his dignity. If Wash were to start going on about how much of a  filthy wet whore he is, he'll easily agree. Not that that isn't hot but. Dignity.

Church moves to get his hand between them, to stroke his own cock and get himself off, but Wash stops him. He shakes his head.

“You want me to knot you, right?”

Church nods. “God, yes. Wash, fucking. _Please_ , knot me. C’mon.”

“Then we- we gotta move,” he finishes, voice rough and filled with the same need Church is feeling.

Wash leans back, and Church's arms fall away. It takes him a second to process what Wash even means by “move” (surely he doesn't mean _stop_ and move somewhere else? Fucking God, don't let that be the case), but then Wash is pulling out of him. Church can feel his slick practically flow out of himself, and his face runs hot. He didn't realize just how wet he was. He normally doesn't get like this, he _swears._

But the embarrassment is wiped from his mind when Wash grabs his hips again, and effortlessly flips him over. Church immediately, mindlessly, lifts his hips and presses his face and chest into the bed, practically presenting his ass like a bitch in heat, instinct and need wanting Wash back inside of him as soon as fucking possible. Thankfully, blessedly, he doesn't have to wait long before Wash is sliding home again, his fingers digging into Church's hips.

He's moaning like a whore, like a knot hungry bitch, and _fucking God,_ it feels amazing when Wash moves his hand, wrapping his still wet fingers around Church's cock and stroking.

Church whimpers and curls his fingers into the bed sheets. He's so fucking— “Wash I'm, fuck, God, I'm close. Please, alpha, c'mon.”

Wash's voice sounds just a wrecked when he talks. He’s not far behind. “Yeah. Yeah, Church. Come— come for me. I got you.”

That's all the go ahead he needed.

His orgasm knocks the wind out of him, leaving him gasping and moaning into the sheets as he comes over Wash's fist. He feels his hole practically milking the knot and come out of Wash, and he doesn't have to wait long before he feels the hot, wet feeling of Wash's come and the press of his knot against his entrance. A push, and Wash is bottomed out again, sealing them together with a low groan.

They stay like that for a minute, both panting and trying to catch their breath.

Church's brain must come back to him first, his lust and need and desperation soothed by his orgasm and the pleasant, satisfied scent of his mate. He laughs, just a breathy huff of air. “That's one way to get me to stop working, I guess.”

Wash snorts. “I didn't mean to take it this far,” he admits. “I just meant to suck you off. But…”

“I'm irresistible?"

“... Little bit, yeah.”

Church turns his head, his red, still stinging cheek pressed to the bed, and he makes eye contact with Wash, giving him a little smirk. “Knew it. Told you you couldn't walk away.”

Wash just rolls his eyes and gets them adjusted so they're both lying on their sides, Wash's weight a comforting presence against his back. They'll be like this for a while. He understands now why Wash moved them. Having to sit missionary, waiting for Wash's knot to go down wouldn't have been comfortable.

But this? Wash's arm over him, holding him close, his steadying breath in his hair? Very nice. Worth the mess they made, worth the long forgotten contract he was supposed to finish tonight.

Okay, maybe it's less nice when his slick and come dries against his skin. But still.

“You're carrying me to the fucking shower,” Church mumbles. “You make such a fucking mess.”

“Oh, _I_ made the mess?” He feels Wash huff, his breath ruffling his hair. “You're the one who soaked the sheets.”

Church feels his face get hot. “Yeah, you're the one who _got me wet_ in the first place. I blame you. Your fault.”

Wash’s voice is fond when he mutters, “You're such a fucking baby.”

Church just hums in response, a contented little sound from the back of his throat. He closes his eyes and lets himself relax, enjoying their mingling scents, the soft, loving pheromones coming from his alpha.

“Don't fall asleep on me,” Wash says, voice soft. “I’m not cleaning your unconscious body again.”

“Thought you liked taking advantage of me while I'm asleep?”

“Wha— Church that was _one time_.” He can practically hear the blush in Wash voice.

“Super hot though,” he replies, already knowing he's going to be asleep before they make it to the shower.

“I hate you.”


End file.
